Bruce Weber: Sex, Lies and Nightmares

Sometime around the year 2000, when I was still in elementary school, I remember walking through my older cousin’s bedroom which was, as is the case with many teenagers, adorned with posters. There was one fixed with pseudo discretion right next to the entryway so that it became partially obscured when the door swung open. It had a vertical orientation with the ephemeral, grainy resolution of film that made its date difficult to pinpoint. In it, a young naked woman with flaxen hair, made luminous by the sun, strolled through a field of wild vegetation in relaxed bliss, a smile spreading across her face. It was Abercrombie & Fitch’s heyday, and I’d grown accustomed to this kind of imagery streaked across shopping bags toted around the mall. I recognized instantly this photograph was related though by what means I didn’t know. It was only later that I learned what connected them was Bruce Weber.

 Weber, 71, is one of the world’s leading photographers who has garnered particular acclaim for his work in glossy publications. He has lensed so many iconic ad campaigns, editorials and personal book projects I doubt even he keeps track. Weber has long been the subject of rumors about what has or has not happened on his exclusive sets, but being the power player that he is, nothing has seemed to stick with any serious consequences. Until now.  A bevy of current and former models, numbering no fewer than 15, who at one time worked with Weber have come forward—first in individual Instagram posts, and now in a damning New York Times exposé that accuses both Weber and fellow fashion titan Mario Testino of gross abuses of authority. I could most definitely make this piece an examination of them both, but, for now, my focus lies squarely on Weber. Though the accusations that have come to light are truly horrific, Weber has always been a problematic figure and whatever the outcome may be, it is long past time for fashion to move on without him. 

A couple of months ago, the men’s fashion magazine VMan promoted a 2018 calendar on social media which featured a different male model for each respective month, all with the chiseled bone structure and sinewy abdominal wall found throughout Weber’s portfolio. The images were indeed beautiful and I instantly messaged one to a good friend who also happens to be a photographer. I mentioned to her how incredible all the men looked, but qualified that I was conflicted having never decided definitively if I thought Weber was exploitative. “I think he is creepy, but talented,” she replied. “Creepy only because he seems like a dirty old man.” She also mentioned apprehension at his glass closet image. I couldn’t help but agree with both points. Despite being married to his agent and studio manager Nan Bush, his homoerotic imagery and apparent intimate detachment from Bush have always led most observers to conclude that their union was one strictly of business. The stories now trickling forth seem to bear that out.

Among other things, Weber is accused of forcibly touching male models using his infamous ‘breathing technique’ whereby he leads a subject through exercises in a supposed attempt to relax them enough to take an astonishing picture. However, from what has been reported in the Times and confirmed by several models independently, this procedure often involved Weber guiding a model’s hands to their genitals as he stood uncomfortably close, sometimes with his fingers in their mouths, and even resulted in forced masturbation in some instances. Those who didn’t comply or were visibly uncomfortable were never contacted for work again, usually killing their career just as it began.

To learn that Weber had a ‘casting couch’ process of sorts didn’t surprise me as the public has become only too aware of these sinister methods as employed by the likes of Harvey Weinstein. These disturbing accounts of Weber using his position to force nudity and unwanted sex acts on those who posed for him both angered me as a human and as a person in the same field. I’ve spent time on sets as a stylist’s assistant helping dress models for shoots, but I always made doubly sure to keep my gaze where it belonged, worked as quickly as possible, touched only when and where absolutely necessary to do the work and maintained conversation to gauge their level of comfort. From what was reported by numerous men, Weber often asked his subjects to strip for ‘test shoots’ in small quarters and made advances while no one else was present. The truth is, that kind of excessive nudity is totally unnecessary even for assignments that require someone to disrobe. As model Jason Fedele astutely said in the Times article, “...If you do get the job, the majority of the time you’re not naked and you’re not in a swimsuit. So what’s really happening is that these guys are gauging whether you’re open or shy or close-minded or, quite frankly, whether you’re gay or hetero and willing either to flirt with them or to submit to an advance.” The youth and inexperience of his alleged victims only made them more susceptible to this manipulative behavior.

For generations of people, Weber’s work has come to embody sex. He took the carefree lightness of 20th century Health Photography, which depicted active people relishing the outdoors and imbued it with an eroticism that shaped how people engaged with everything from Calvin Klein to Ralph Lauren toBanana Republic. As a gay man, I always had an appreciation for these kinds of photographs. They were unabashed in their sexuality and dared you to look with unblinking eyes. I found the featured men adonis-like, and Weber’s eye captured intangible details specific to the gay point of view that appealed to the voyeur lurking in everyone. But even before I heard the rumors, they gave me pause. There was something too invasive and undue about much of what he produced. He wasn’t like George Platt Lynes exploring his own sexuality and giving a face to gay men or even Picasso distorting women in an attempt to physicalize his tumultuous romances with lovers while eradicating traditional form. No matter how wonderfully composed his nude photographs were, elements were amiss and the patterns of predation described with striking similarity by so many buttress my worst assumptions. 

That same VMan calendar that kicked off my renewed processing of Weber’s oeuvre highlighted another issue the fashion industry has seemed content to ignore. It caused more than a little internet chatter when viewers quickly recognized that of the 12 models featured, all were white or, at the very least, so fairly complected that no one who didn’t know them personally would be able to tell otherwise. One Instagram commenter quipped, “Even the dogs are white,” in reference to the Golden Retriever puppies that populated a group shot.  This project—like the poster I remember from years ago, nearly all of his fashion editorials, monographs and advertising—featured people sharply limited in demographics. Yes, Weber has included people of varying backgrounds in the past, but often only when the subject matter or location absolutely demanded it. His vision has become synonymous with the fantasy of America and Americana yet the danger lies in his unwillingness to showcase the people of color who contribute to its social fabric. Other legendary photographers of the past with sexually charged styles, such as Herb Ritts and Robert Mapplethorpe, regularly used models of color and appreciated their beauty along with the different compositions those models allowed them to craft. When fashion claims a need to diversify its ranks, why continue working with someone who so stubbornly refuses to be a part of the solution? 

Many have come to Weber’s defense in recent days citing phenomenal experiences and trusting relationships. I’m sure those people have nothing but good memories. But those statements of support do not and cannot invalidate the stories already amassed, the count of which I’m positive will grow in the coming weeks. Bruce Weber may appear like everyone’s imagined hippy grandfather swathed in billowing scarves and gauzy bandanas that cover his Santa-like white hair, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of being the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. I believe the men who have come forward and it’s time for a business that casually doles out abuse with a wink and a that’s-just-the-way-we-do-things attitude to do the same.

Written by Martin Lerma

When Fashion Sells Feminism

A funny thing has happened in fashion over the past several years. Where once the industry proved itself as a leader willing to embrace new ideas while tackling weathered barriers, it now seems to be a consistent grasper of straws. Slumping sales, changing markets, shifting demographics and digital innovation have all played a part in fashion’s consistent fumbling. In the hope that it will strike a financial motherload, the fashion industry often looks to movements outside its own walls that it can appropriate in the most superficial way possible in order to gain positive coverage and join the media fray as it struggles to maintain relevancy. Sadly, the renewed interest in feminist ideals is the latest target of luxury’s vampiric feeding. As a man, I would never claim to fully comprehend the countless nuances surrounding womanhood, but the glaring inconsistencies promoted by the fashion machine are simply too disturbing not to notice.

Though there are many brands churning out what they can to feign interest in a genuinely important cultural conversation, the most egregious example of jumping on the feminist bandwagon is undoubtedly Maria Grazia Chiuri’s Dior. Chiuri has a long history of making questionable choices when it comes to representation in her work. Remember that Africa-inspired Spring/Summer 2016 Valentino collection shown in 2015 that had nearly 90 looks yet only a handful of black models? True, it was designed with Pierpaolo Piccioli, who remains Valentino’s creative director, but that brand has become noticeably more international in look and feel since Chiuri’s departure while Dior’s catwalk lineup will include, at best, a light spattering of models of color. It also doesn’t help that her casting skews incredibly young and frighteningly thin, even by fashion standards. Yes, these criticisms could be leveled at countless labels, and while they should most definitely be held to account by the public, those brands don’t claim feminism as a banner cause as Chiuri has.

In a move that I’m sure both Chiuri and her publicity team hoped would be an Instagrammable moment, her debut runway show for the house of Dior in September of 2016 featured a t-shirt emblazoned with the statement, “We Should All Be Feminists,” in black type against a simple white background. With the U.S. presidential campaign reaching a boiling point and issues specific to women at the fore, Chiuri’s appointment seemed like a much-needed antidote as the start of her tenure marked the first time any woman has ever headed the venerable French couture house of Christian Dior. She made feminist themes a pillar of her debut, drawing much of her inspiration from official fencing attire, one of, if not the only, sport where men and women don identical uniforms. Many of the same problems that emerged at Valentino were still evident: people of color were reduced to tokenism, the age cutoff couldn’t have been far past typical high school graduation, and there were practically no variations in body type whatsoever.

But let’s set those issues aside for a moment to consider the clothes alone. That first collection, with its heavily worked fencing inspiration, resulted in a host of heavily padded, awkwardly fitted jackets and vests that skewed a bit more asylum than Olympic arena. Add to those sheer silk blouses and equally transparent skirts layered over shorts that ended just past the gluteal fold and you have a collection filled with deeply impractical, unflattering clothes that are particularly unkind to anyone over 30--something that makes even less sense when considering the age of the average, moneyed Dior shopper.

Chiuri was clearly aware of the weight of her new role as one of the few women in a leadership position in the industry, but has not done anything since to make her clothes friendly to the wearer. It goes to show that the old platitude insisting female designers create clothes while male designers create costumes is an untrue and lazy criticism. As Pulitzer Prize-winning fashion journalist Robin Givhan noted in her review of Dior’s Spring/Summer 2018 collection (which was partially inspired by art historian Linda Nochlin’s scholarship), “Perhaps a more ambitious or daring designer would have found a way [to address important feminist issues]. Fashion, after all, has been used to express a range of emotions from sorrow and anger to giddy delight. Instead, Chiuri uses feminism as an overlay or a gloss. That isn’t to say that she doesn’t believe deeply in the issues...But she has reduced them to slogans and backdrop. Their meaning is not carried through in the garments themselves.”

Greats of the past have shown an enormous aptitude for physicalizing a specific response to their times. There’s good reason that someone like Coco Chanel is so revered. The legendary French fashion designer definitely did her best to canonize herself in life, but it is the poetic practicality of her clothes that has survived her in death. Discussion of any kind of diversity when speaking of her era is almost moot as there was practically none in fashion, but the philosophy behind her garments continues to resonate despite her more than problematic (and opportunistic) affiliations, like those with officers of the Third Reich.

Chanel wanted women to have the female equivalent of a man’s suit—something that could take you from a social function to church to work to dinner, and everywhere in between. The Chanel suit is something that can be thrown on without thought and still result in a polished ensemble. A jacket, a skirt, maybe a silk blouse and the right accessory. Done. It was chic by numbers and it worked because sometimes there’s nothing more liberating than a uniform. There was an athleticism, a briskness to the composition that let any onlooker know the Chanel women was on the move. It was a rare ideology during couture’s golden age and remains shockingly absent in the present day, but there are most definitely other creatives in recent memory who did not rely on catchphrases to connote their intentions. 

Martin Margiela is recognized as a Belgian radical whose oeuvre continues to find new life as people inspired by his work, such as Raf Simons, become ever larger, more important cultural figures. His signature aesthetic is resolutely avant-garde, but not only in the sense that might first spring to mind. Margiela’s work can seem whacky on the surface—dresses made from flea market-sourced wedding gowns, tops crafted from a patchwork of vintage leather gloves—and much of it certainly can be, however, his work for Hermès revealed his deeper, and ingenious, sensitivities.

In a recent exhibition held in his native country which was documented in a book entitled Margiela, The Hermès Years, it was disclosed that he often asked the women working in his atelier and close friends to try on works in progress and hear their feedback.  He would conduct six fittings for each ready-to-wear piece, an extensive amount, and often built in specific features he knew his customers would appreciate.  One of Margiela’s signatures while designing for the house was a cozy tunic that could be layered in a host of different ways—giving the wearer agency over her look—and be easily pulled down off the shoulders and stepped out of so as not to disturb hair or makeup. From the start of Margiela’s time there, it wasn’t at all unusual to witness Asian women, shorter women, 50+ women walk his runway. It seemed so natural, so authentic because it was. It was an exercise in making women, many women, visible and comfortable above all else. It doesn’t get more modern than that.

One got a similar feeling watching presentations held by the late, great Azzedine Alaïa. There were the midriff-baring, short-skirted dresses for the young, hot yoga devotees; longer dresses with skirts that floated just below the knee and slender sleeves for those approaching or beyond middle age who no longer wished to show their upper arms; the razor-sharp tailoring, crisp shirting and immaculate trousers for the women who didn’t prefer the traditional trappings of femininity at all.  For a couture-themed photo shoot and accompanying behind-the-scenes video for W magazine in 2011, Carine Roitfeld had ensembles made for her at just about every significant couture house showing in Paris, Alaïa included. Alaïa painstakingly conducted the entire fitting from start to finish. Roitfeld noted how much extra work he was taking on by attending to his clients so closely and he responded, “Listen, when you look after clients, that’s how you learn. Because if you don’t see how a design is worn or what women want or how they want to wear it, you’re just designing in a void and that isn’t good.”

And that is just one of many reasons why the Tunisian-born couturier is so missed.  Alaïa's garments were so remarkable because he respected women so deeply and honored their opinions. Lauded fashion journalist Cathy Horyn may have put it better than anyone else, “I didn’t know that he had designed garments for the girls at the Crazy Horse,” she said referencing the famed Parisian cabaret (known for its largely nude stage spectacles) during an interview in a short film on Alaïa directed by stylist Joe McKenna. “And I thought, God if you have to get in there and really measure those women, you’re really not worried about women. You’re not intimidated by them. You don’t have any fantasies about them. And that, we all know, is a problem with many designers, male or female. They have a fantasy about women that doesn’t jive with reality.”

Fashion, as a business, collectively asks for women’s money yet makes sure they are not involved in formulating the strategies or making the decisions that affect what gets produced for their consumption.  Women make up a large portion of the garment trade, both at the luxury and mass levels, making them particularly subject to its injustices whether it is workplace harassment, lack of upward career mobility, unsafe--even deadly--working conditions or low pay. If fashion wants to address inequality, it needs to make robust, actionable plans that start from within where the problems it proclaims to be against are taking place in plain view.

Written by Martin Lerma

Chasing Halston

Halston. It’s a name that may conjure up images of the '70s, Studio 54 and easy, sensuous glamour. Born Roy Halston Frowick on April 23, 1932, there was little indication that the Midwestern bred boy would go on to become the toast of the world’s jet-setting elite. But that’s exactly what he became. There have been many great, innovative designers of the past, some who were forgotten and others who remain in the public consciousness through the sheer strength of their aesthetic or continuation of their namesake label. Though Halston’s own company did trudge along after his death in 1990 from AIDS-related illness, it had already weakened considerably when the corporation’s buyers pushed him out in the early 1980s. What had been perhaps the single most important fashion brand of the decade essentially fizzled despite countless attempts to revive it. But genius isn’t so easy to kill. Whether or not most recognize it, the signs of Halston’s influence are as pervasive as ever.

Over the past ten years, there has been a rise in minimalist fashion with the likes of Céline’s Phoebe Philo and Raf Simons ushering in a starkly pared back look that relies on exceptional fabrics and immaculate cutting. Both of these figures and many others owe Halston an enormous debt. Though Halston was not the first person in the industry with a reverence for simplicity (Madame Grès, Charles James and Balenciaga were noted influences), he was possibly the first to make it his hallmark. From his Grecian goddess-inspired dresses made from heavy silk jersey to his gowns cut from smoky chiffon, often with only a single seam, he was in constant search of purity and developed brilliant techniques that were genuinely at the level of couture. His particular take on modernity was deeply in sync with the speed of the times. He produced work that was easy to slip and, perhaps more importantly at the height of the Disco era, easy to slip off. Even his famous dress shirts were often fabricated from Ultrasuede, the soft fabric that appeared like genuine suede, but was machine washable.

Women like Kim Kardashian and Joan Smalls may count themselves as members of the Balmain Army, the coterie of glamorous women who perpetually surround Olivier Rousteing (the brand’s designer), but decades before that informal group came to be, Halston had his Halstonettes.

Halstonettes were house models and close friends that accompanied Halston everywhere; from his grand trip to the Great Wall of China to his brief television appearance on an episode of The Love Boat. Modeling legend Pat Clevelandand even a pre-acting Anjelica Huston were famous members who came to define a particular kind of allure that would become synonymous with the 70s. The sheer impact they had on perceptions of beauty during their reign was unparalleled, as they presaged the gang of supermodels who would emerge a decade later.

Shrinking in scope from the macro to the micro, Halston’s influence has even seeped into the look of one today’s most prominent pop stars. Though we’ll probably never be sure just how much Ariana Grande or her team knew about Halston, it is clear in certain looks that they have borrowed heavily from his oeuvre.

In 1975, the great photographer Helmut Newton captured Elsa Peretti, who was a model at the time before starting her legendary career as a jewelry designer for Tiffany & Co., wearing an incredible Halston-designed bodysuit and bunny mask against a dramatic Manhattan skyline. One need only glance at Grande’s costume for the cover of her Dangerous Woman album to see where her styling team got their idea.

Halston was unique in that he was both completely of and completely ahead of his time. Everything he did, from his fashions to being the first designer to attempt the launch of an affordable label at a national retailer (J.C. Penney in his case), was groundbreaking. I can’t help but notice that everyone from Donna Karan to Tom Ford has done his best to catch up to Halston’s legacy. But none have succeeded. And I don’t think anyone will soon.

Written by Martin Lerma

The Problem With Ralph Lauren

If you were asked to name one brand that represents luxurious American style above all others, chances are quite good that it would be Ralph Lauren. Both the man and his global company are iconic with a vision that largely shaped the modern perception of what a lifestyle brand is and what it can become when honed relentlessly over half a century. But as ubiquitous as the name is, the past few years have revealed internal tumult, which has highlighted deeper issues within the business and also demonstrated the consequences of a larger cultural shift the storied house is still trying to navigate.

Earlier this year, Stefan Larsson, the first person to ever hold the position as CEO of Ralph Lauren other than Ralph himself, departed the company after little more than a year amidst rumors of tension with the founder. Larsson implemented the much publicized Way Forward Plan designed to streamline what was deemed a bloated infrastructure that was consuming far too much money to operate given shrinking revenues--jobs were cut, stores were closed and insiders hoped for the best. The news of his premature dismissal caused a notable drop in the value of RL stock and presaged additional rounds of layoffs that happened throughout the company.  It also perpetuated the closing of more stores, including the flagship Polo store on 5th Ave. in Manhattan. Since, sales have continued to slump, the value of RL stock is tepid and the installation of a new CEO isn’t necessarily cause for celebration.

So how did one of the world’s greatest brands with a reputation as a training ground for leadership within the fashion industry and beyond manage to get itself into such dire straits?

The answer is multifaceted, but it can be traced back to one fundamental problem that will take Herculean strength to rectify: The RL ethos with the aesthetic currently presented is simply out of sync with the spirit of today. Yes, the candy-colored polos will continue to rake in cash from around the world and yes, brand offshoots like The Polo Bar will continue to have healthy reservation schedules, but the brand still has its roots in the heady 1980s when it came into its own and, to some degree, it has remained stuck there. Until the past couple of seasons, even the major advertising campaigns had flowing cursive font and rustic estate backdrops with polished vintage cars in the foreground much as they had decades ago. The look, in essence, is a fetishized version of lavish aristocratic lifestyles as envisioned by Mr. Lauren.

Grand displays of inheritance and imagery suggesting summers by the cape traveling by yacht not only seem out of touch but downright distasteful during a time of such economic inequality. If you’re going to be blatantly moneyed, why not buy something with a sense of joie de vivre like the magpie beauties coming out of Gucci that don’t take themselves quite so seriously? Projecting a serious attitude isn’t in any way a bad thing, but it is difficult to strike the correct tone when one company sells products at such vastly different price points under different labels (Collection vs Polo Denim). The countless product levels are impressive in range but seem to fight against the whole, as so many can no longer compete after the advent of countless outside brands that offer stylish clothes at more bearable prices. They pander to everyone without attracting or understanding anyone. Despite its overall conservatism, the brand has had more than its fair share of forward-thinking moments that could hint at a way to steer the ship on a healthier course.

Though race in fashion has always been a contentious issue, Ralph Lauren advertisements and runways have been among the most inclusive in the industry. Famous model Tyson Beckford has long been a brand favorite and the brilliance of Ralph to show him, an athletic black man, in rarefied settings over dozens of projects as he sports the trappings of Ivy Leaguers, is the kind of thing still nearly impossible to find in contemporary fashion photography. It subverts stereotypes in a way that is simultaneously genius and so obvious you can’t help but wonder why no else seems to have followed suit. The aforementioned Polo Bar is another bold, open-minded example of how Mr. Lauren knows how to expertly translate his worldview to sites that extend beyond mere shops and excite crowds with a perfectly edited experience.

If Ralph Lauren can live up to these groundbreaking elements of its legacy going forward, there could be no stopping its renewed ascent.

Written by Martin Lerma

The New Givenchy

When it comes to the legendary Parisian couture house of Givenchy, Clare Waight Keller is in and Riccardo Tisci is out after 12 years in charge of the brand. Though the change has added fuel to the rumors surrounding the possibility of Tisci taking over at Versace, Waight Keller’s ascension has been less discussed yet no less important. So what might we expect from this talent who is largely known only to those within fashion? It has the potential to be a more exciting shakeup than anyone has anticipated.

While Clare's time at Chloé was critically and commercially successful with her designs in-demand at the world’s most rarefied luxury retailers, she did not enjoy the kind of blockbuster success her predecessors like Karl Lagerfeld and Phoebe Philo experienced. Hers was a time of quiet consistency that drew heavily upon the French label’s heritage of hippie-tinged glamour in the form of louche fur coats, breathy peach chiffon and slouchy leather bags. One gets the sense that this new appointment may bring with it the opportunity for her to shine brighter than ever before.

The British designer worked as Chloé’s creative director for six years following her time with the famed knitwear label Pringle of Scotland, but her experience working with revered names predates even that. She, along with Christopher Bailey (of Burberry) and Francisco Costa (most recently of Calvin Klein Collection), was part of a talent triumvirate culled together by Tom Ford to work on womenswear in 2000 during his tenure at Gucci. That was after stints working for both Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren immediately after graduating with her master’s degree. All this is to say that Waight Keller is a designer with an exceptional resume and the sales figures to back it up.

Givenchy’s new head signals an important shift as the brand’s aesthetic growth seems to have faltered over the past few years. It remained a fixture on red carpets and received countless social media impressions thanks to Tisci’s signature blend of Catholic icons and Rottweiler-emblazoned sweaters, but the surprises had ceased with a stale formula taking their place.  Clare knows how to design for a wide breadth of women well-heeled enough to afford her clothes and has ample working experiences  at labels large enough to prepare her for the multifaceted challenges of bearing so much responsibility. But this position also makes her the first female creative director in the house’s history and one of only two women now leading legendary couture houses founded by men--a rare reversal of roles that has never before happened.

Waight Keller's success will be dependent on many factors--the level of control she’s given over store designs, her influence on branding/advertising and the support received from executives--but if she can revitalize the kind of femininity the great Hubert de Givenchy, who is still alive and well at 90 years of age, built his name upon for a contemporary world, there may be no stopping her.

Written by Martin Lerma

Irreplaceable Alaïa

Genius. Legend. Master. Even the most extreme superlatives are all but inadequate to describe Azzedine Alaïa. He has toiled away for decades in his Parisian atelier creating clothes that women absolutely adore. Alaïa receives criminally little press, but that is of no consequence--just check with the sales associates at any of the world’s greatest luxury retailers to see if they have trouble unloading his seasonal inventory. When it comes to the Tunisian-born couturier, $4,000 day dresses fly off the racks in a flash. The numbers simply do not lie.

So what is it about Azzadine that makes his clothes turn into collector’s items the moment they are available for purchase? Why are his prices so high yet act as no impediment to the health of his business? Why is he so universally adored and admired by both clients and professionals in the fashion world? To answer those questions an insider’s eye is needed. Luckily, internationally revered stylist Joe McKenna has put together a 25-minute black-and-white film that blends new interviews of Alaïa’s respected colleagues with beautifully grainy archival footage to give some insight into his rarefied world.

“There are very few people who have this capacity for innovation and this is something I truly admire in his work,” said Louis Vuitton women’s artistic director Nicolas Ghesquière. “In painting, in music, in art in general, you reach that point where you become a master. Azzedine is a master so it’s timeless and it’s the most fashionable clothes at the same time. It is something that every woman wants to wear and seems so exclusive at the same time,” he further states. 

What Ghesquière astutely points out is that every woman who knows about Alaïa wants to wear his clothes, not just because of a specific look or feel, but rather because he has established an oeuvre unmistakably his own, which miraculously includes nearly every kind of woman. There are the body conscious dresses with slashes of revealed flesh for the toned and youthful, the crisp shirting and razor sharp tailoring for those who prefer something other than the traditional trappings of femininity, the dresses that hit just below the knee and sport two full-length sleeves for older women who prefer not to show their upper arms, and so much more.

Fashion critic Suzy Menkes echoed Ghesquière’s points and said, “Azzedine, contrary to what people might imagine, is one of those people who has really given confidence to women through their clothes. Confidence and strength and the ability to express your sexuality, your body, but never, never in a vulgar way.” His love for women and the female body is palpable, but it is never fetishistic.

If there’s one thing you can’t escape in this short but moving documentary, it’s Alaïa’s ever-present hands--nimble, experienced, always searching, forever busy. Such a perfectionist is he that he hasn’t shown during the regular fashion schedule for years preferring to show only when things feel exactly right.  “It does take huge discipline, and the ability to say, ‘I’m not having a show this season ‘cause it’s not there yet.’ You can’t say that if you’re at a big house,” said Vanessa Friedman, the fashion director and chief fashion critic at The New York Times who was filmed wearing one of her many Alaïa dresses. In reference to the immaculate construction of each and every piece, she said, “It all comes from inside the garment and that’s what I always find so mind boggling. You know, nothing is added on afterwards. It all comes from the beginning. And I don’t think anyone else does that.”

New York Magazine’s critic-at-large Cathy Horyn participated in the short and recounted the events surrounding a story she wrote on Alaïa a few years prior. “I didn’t know that he had designed garments for the girls at the Crazy Horse.  And I thought, God if you have to get in there and really measure those women, you’re really not worried about women. You’re not intimidated by them. You don’t have any fantasies about them. And that, we all know, is a problem with many designers, male or female. They have a fantasy about women that doesn’t jive with reality.” Horyn’s statements sums up Alaïa’s most potent design quality: He knows women and loves them, but for how they are, not how he’d like them to be.

The film closes with the 77-year-old Alaïa joyfully dancing to music accompanied by his comically large St. Bernard Didine. May it always remain so.

Written by Martin Lerma

Balenciaga: The Master

In fashion, there have only ever been a handful of greats. Countless labels have come and gone from the fashion week calendar, but there are some names with an undying influence that continues to ripple through the industry. Cristóbal Balenciaga was most definitely one of them, and this May the storied Victoria & Albert Museum in London will open a blockbuster exhibit entitled Balenciaga: Shaping Fashion, that examines his work and legacy.

If French fashion designer Madeleine Vionnet was about revealing the body in its truest form, Balenciaga was focused on honoring its foundations while reshaping it in his own vision. He was a true architect of the body who developed fabrics, like the silk gazar created for him by the illustrious Swiss textile firm Abraham, that could complement the volumes and sculptural shapes he desired while celebrating the woman beneath.

Cristóbal's drive was legendary with no detail too small to escape his eagle-eyed attention. For just one example, he spent the better part of his life trying to make the perfect sleeve, developing countless iterations to achieve his desired effect. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Balenciaga was a true craftsman who could make every garment from the ground up himself, going so far as to make one sublime black dress entirely on his own for every show--without ever divulging which one it was.

Phenomenal technical feats never ceased coming out of his atelier (coats with only one seam made from one piece of cloth, gravity-defying infanta gowns inspired by his Spanish heritage) and were, astonishingly, the norm. In 1968 when Balenciaga felt he no longer connected with the people of the day, he quietly shuttered his house at the age of 74 and died only a few years later.

The house of Balenciaga, once considered the greatest in Paris, languished for years with a headquarters that fell into such disrepair; a flooded basement ruined dozens of priceless couture pieces. It was eventually revived to great enthusiasm, but Cristóbal’s singular mystique never diminished and even after numerous entities designing under his name have moved on, his religious devotion to excellence remains a true, unblemished beacon in fashion.

Written by Martin Lerma

Karl Lagerfeld's Chanel

Karl Lagerfeld launched his Fall 2017 collection for Chanel into space with the help of an elaborate set complete with a Coco-stamped rocket ship. The French house's signatures of tweed, camellias and quilting were all there, which baffles the mind to consider how Lagerfeld has managed to reinterpret the same handful of codes for more than thirty years.  With the focus clearly on unknowable frontiers, I also couldn’t help but ponder about the future of Chanel without him. Karl is uncompromisingly unique; the kind of fantastic idiosyncratic fashion animal that used to seem far more common.

Lagerfeld, along with contemporaries like Azzedine Alaïa and Rei Kawakubo, represents a generational cohort of excellence that spent decades fixated, obsessed even, on learning the craft of making clothes. All are or will soon be octogenarians, yet they remain the most innovative and exciting designers working today who perpetually spellbind us with the power of their creations. Their breed is simply irreplaceable.

Alaïa and Lagerfeld in particular have a couture pedigree learning every fabric, stitch, embroidery, cutting technique, shape and fit imaginable under the auspices of impossibly demanding teachers, whose lessons were enhanced by autodidactic tendencies. The lengthy tunic silhouettes that so often show up in Lagerfeld’s collections for Chanel and Fendi are references to the elongated lines of the Vienna Secession.  Furthermore, his famous tweed suits are actually not tweed at all, but rather fine silks that are densely embroidered to maintain the tweed look minus the bulk and weight. There are only a handful of people alive today with these extraordinary capabilities.

What will happen to fashion when these people die? Who will the standard bearers be? How can this tradition, this habit of greatness be maintained when true apprenticeships are so few? In the documentary Valentino: The Last Emperor, widely-respected fashion critic Cathy Horyn lamented that Valentino and his ilk were so great because they learned couture in the 1950s.  Without proper education, the métier could never genuinely evolve to represent a new era.

Couture is both a process and a state of mind, a perpetual search for something transformative. I don't know who will be the next great designer, but my hope is that, somewhere, a young person is toiling in an atelier under a lovingly firm hand, bent on bringing forth the best of their talents.

Written by Martin Lerma

The Brilliance of Rei Kawakubo

At 74 years of age, Rei Kawakubo is an untouchable powerhouse, an inarguable legend in her own time. She is, along with Azzedine Alaïa, the most respected designer in fashion with a wide-reaching circle of influence that has affected every other player in the game. Her work is singularly marked by an exploration of shapes and textile properties that were once the provenance of the greatest couturiers.

Rei's latest Comme des Garçons show, entitled “The Future of Silhouette,” was very much in keeping with her radical vision. For Fall/Winter 2017, she sent forms down the runway that recalled everything from the security of a womb to violent storm clouds ready to expel unpredictable fury, making us question the parallel along the way. Kawakubo doesn’t really make clothes so much as suggestions of what is possible when the rulebook is abandoned, and I couldn’t be more grateful for her dedicated subversion.

When the celebrated designer first showed Comme des Garçons in Paris in 1981, people quite literally didn’t know what to do with it. Kawakubo started her career as a stylist in her native Japan only crafting her own designs when she was unable to find clothes for shoots that suited her taste. That fateful beginning resulted in the launch of a line in 1969 that quickly grew in stature. The 80s were financial boon years for a certain segment of society that reveled in opulence from the start. Ballgowns, broad pinstriped power suits and Technicolor hues were the new standard after the touchable sensuality of the 70s. Paris had no idea what was about to hit it.

Her oversized, tattered, body-morphing designs were slammed and simultaneously dubbed “Hiroshima chic,” supposedly in reference to the radiation-ravaged bodies in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, by members of the fashion press oblivious to how such a flippant reference to the horrors of nuclear war would resonate with a woman who was born and raised during that time of desperation. But such dismissals were to their own detriment as she persevered and took Europe by storm, forever changing what could be considered great.

Viewing a Comme des Garçons collection is a tricky thing. You can never be sure if you’re over or under intellectualizing Rei's seasonal propositions, and I’m sure she likes it precisely that way. After the Fall 2005 “Bride” collection, Kawakubo lamented that she felt people had understood it too readily, which she found displeasing. Her collections have meaning, but I doubt she’s concerned with whether or not her audience ever discerns exactly what. She enjoys being something of an enigma.

On rare occasions Kawakubo grants interviews, she is surrounded by interpreters who allow her a certain level of remove even from those in her immediate surroundings--but, as with her garments, all is not as it seems. In the 1980s, internationally revered fashion photographer Nick Knight visited Kawakubo in Japan and recounted decades later that she spoke perfect English, a tale similar to those of other select industry veterans.

A few years ago, fashion journalist Tim Blanks conducted an interview nervously asking questions via those infamous interpreters as Rei seemed deeply unamused. For his final inquiry, he asked, “What makes you laugh?” She  looked him directly in the eye and said plainly, “You.”

Written by Martin Lerma

Olivier Theyskens' Individual Path

Olivier Theyskens recently showcased his second runway collection in Paris since re-launching his eponymous label and it was truly a sight for sore eyes. Though the previous collection was stronger, there was something profoundly refreshing about seeing someone of enormous talent pursue his own design ends, without feeling the need to latch on to the latest trends kicking around. It lacked some of the sharp editing of his prior outing, with silhouettes that seemed a bit disjointed from one look to the next and was perhaps poorly sequenced, but it did little to ruin the pleasure of the whole exercise.

Theyskens is only 40 years old but has already enjoyed a meteoric career. He dropped out of design school in his native Belgium in 1997 to start a label that quickly garnered massive attention and the approval of many of fashion’s most powerful, namely Anna Wintour. The label operated for a few years before shuttering around the same time Theyskens began designing for the Parisian house Rochas.  There he further cemented his aesthetic codes of strict leather and wispy feathers that bordered on the sculptural.

Olivier is perhaps best remembered for his years at Nina Ricci, which he revived through acclaimed shows and partnering with Reese Witherspoon for many red carpet appearances. A short tenure with Theory in New York followed before he disappeared only to eventually self-finance his return.

A great designer has trademarks that go beyond the surface and Theyskens has them in abundance. Olivier's sense of fit is uniquely his with a softly draped bust and slim, elongated waist that never looks tight or restrictive, as exemplified by superb high-neck jackets in inky hues and flowy satin dresses. He also has a unique way of combining hard and soft elements, like the black patent python jacket over a bouncy white silk skirt in last season’s show. There is always a dark sense of romance with Victorian touches that read as mysterious and sensual in a manner that never feels overly reverential.

I don’t advocate for every design student to launch her own label straight out of school, but it is wonderful to witness a revival that isn’t trying to conform to the heritage of a house whose founder is long dead. Was it Theyskens’ best work ever? Perhaps not, but it was exemplary nonetheless and remained above the fray for its ability to look within.

Written by Martin Lerma

Versace's New Era

The murder of Gianni Versace has loomed large over the house that bears his name and, especially, Donatella, his sister and lifelong right-hand woman, for decades. Versace became known for a specific kind of Italian glamour--colorful, sexy and unabashedly luxurious. The use of modern chainmail to make gowns and reinterpretations of Warhol’s silkscreened portraits became symbols of the brand’s whip-smart vision. But Donatella has struggled to honor her brother without being trapped by his legacy, not to mention the parameters of the iconic look he created. That struggle often showed in the clothes with presentations that had flashes of brilliance but weren’t always consistent, something her personal battle with addiction made even more difficult. Once she rehabilitated herself, it took her time to find her footing, but now she’s finding a voice that’s translating her family’s heritage of sex appeal for a new age.

For someone who grew up with JLo’s plunging necklines being synonymous with Versace, it took some time for my eyes to adjust to the new direction that began in earnest a couple of years ago. Where once there were slinky champagne-colored silk satin gowns with crystal embroidery, there are sporty tailored coats in black with smoky chiffon peeking out from beneath the hem, as was the case during Versace's Fall 2017 runway show.

As incredible as Gianni’s interpretation of femininity was, I often wonder how it would be received were it to be shown for the first time today. With fashion’s move toward sensuality rather than overt sexiness and sportswear’s takeover of even the most vaunted high fashion labels, it would seem out of place (although his emphasis on actual design and not mere styling would do that on its own). A shift was called for, but how well suited that shift is to the Versace ethos is hotly debated. Effortlessness, or, more accurately, the appearance of it, reigns supreme in fashion at the moment. But is that really at the heart of Versace?

The mystique of Versace is not entirely gone though it is different. Like always, the clothes and accessories themselves are beautifully made with impeccable fit and finish. Donatella’s recent shows have become more coherent, however, they lack the spark of collections past and the ability to generate the same kind of captivating images they once did.

Riccardo Tisci, the famed designer who recently resigned from his post at Givenchy, is heavily rumored to be Donatella’s pick for a successor to steer the label going forward. The Versace canon is so rich that if the rumor proves true, Tisci should have no problem reenergizing the establishment even though his tenure at Givenchy had grown tired. What’s worrisome is that Versace will become too bogged down in the everyday with its overcoats, fitted dresses and chunky knits--things better left to other brands. In order to retain its core identity, Versace should not ignore its roots in the search for progress. The fashion world needs its allure now more than ever.

Written by: Martin Lerma

Prada's Eternal Conflict

There’s a tension absolutely critical to the work of Miuccia Prada. Though her name has become synonymous with the pinnacle of intellectual luxury, the business empire she’s built along with her husband, Patrizio Bertelli, is far from where she started. Her latest show in Milan revealed that no matter how drastically the sets change, Prada’s (the woman) work is singular and decades into her career.  

Founded in 1913 as a small Milanese leather goods store, the Prada we know set a new course when Miuccia, the founder’s granddaughter, took the helm of the family company in 1978. She earned a PhD in political science, was an ardent member of Italy’s Communist and women’s rights movements, and even performed as a mime for a few years in her youth. I can’t help but imagine what someone so deeply radical must have felt assuming the head role in a business so heavily associated with stereotypical ideas of femininity and wealth.

Miuccia seems both utterly in charge and reactive to this day. Her desire to challenge our perception of ugliness and good taste has never ceased. She once based a collection (Fall/Winter 2008) entirely on lace because, as a raised Catholic, it remained linked to the kind of prissy Communion veils she despised.  It is her exploration of the things she deeply dislikes that creates so many rich layers in her work.

For Fall 2017, Prada sent out a lineup of heavily pilled cardigan sweaters that were straight out of a dusty trunk in your grandma’s attic, 70s-inspired trouser suits in her signature earth tones and dresses that exploded in layers of wool or feathers near the hem. It looked completely wrong in exactly the right way, a way that can never quite be pinned down.

Though it would help enormously if the women on her runways weren’t nearly always so lily white, this was a complete portrait of a particular kind of woman and a particular kind of journey. It was messy and it was loud and it was too much, too plain, too revealing and too layered, too eccentric and too serious. It was a woman dressing for herself. That’s the genius.

Written by Martin Lerma